


Little Light of Love

by babesrgrs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Soldiers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-05 20:36:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14626557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babesrgrs/pseuds/babesrgrs
Summary: There's a new face in Curt's group. Frank's not sure what to think about him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not compliant with the IW nor beta read. I'd like to say that I put a lot of thought into how the themes in the Punisher series and the CA films go together well but I'm afraid the main motivation comes down to two images: that of Frank bloody and without his shirt in front of a mirror and that of Steve bicep curling a helicopter.

They were most of them sitting down already, Frank too. He preferred to come early and leave late to share a couple of words with Curtis. Curtis, who had seemed slightly off today, glancing at the doorway every time someone came in. From the glances alone it was obvious he was waiting for someone to show up. On top of that, he took two chairs to the circle, one for himself, one for who knew whom.

Frank wasn't worried. The more people knew about him, where he went, the more difficult his life became, that was true. What Curtis had said was true, too. These guys, vets, they didn't rat on him. Not here. While his trust in his brothers had been misplaced before, he wasn't ready to give up on it. He didn't have much left after Maria and his kids were taken from him. He had to have this brotherhood of soldiers.

Just when Frank was sure Curtis was about to start the session, the door opened. Frank was sitting facing the exit so he was probably the first of them who saw him.

Look, Frank didn't give a fuck about superheroes. He wasn't a hypocrite, he could understand vigilantism, taking on threats that the normal law enforcement didn't for a reason or another handle. And, okay, maybe he had little room to condemn alter egos or costumes seeing that he in a sense had both. That was fair. But at the end of the day, he figured it was for the best to keep your distance to anyone with green skin, robotic suit, whatever.

The point was, while Frank didn't give a fuck about superheroes, he did give a bit of a fuck about Captain America.

And it was Captain America, Steve Rogers, who had just come in. He stood in the doorway, looked around the room before hesitatingly heading in. Heading towards where the empty chair stood, which was right next to Frank.

Frank was looking at the guy long enough that he noticed the small nod he gave – to Curtis, obviously. Where the hell did Curt know Captain America from, Frank couldn't fathom.

As Frank turned his gaze away so he wouldn't be caught in the act of staring, he noticed the rest of the men doing a lot worse job hiding their interest. They'd been a bit like that the first time Frank had come. A bit, though, not like this barely concealed idolatry.

Pathetic, really. Sure, Rogers was a hero and a soldier, MIA for 70 fucking years, giving his life in the line of duty fighting Nazis – okay, Frank got it. He himself might have been slightly star-struck had it been ten years ago. He still would have made a better job not letting it show, though.

As Frank was decidedly not giving any attention to the living legend sitting a mere ten inches from him, he wondered if he should be worried about Captain America knowing of his whereabouts. Frank trusted Curt's judgment, but despite the problems Cap himself had had with the law, he had at least once worked for an intelligence organization, might very well still be working for one. He wasn't just any screwed up, PTSD ridden vet.

No matter how well he played the part.

 

”I suppose I thought I shouldn't come to these meetings for a long time. Not because I thought I was fine, but because I thought I wasn't the right kind.”

With his zero judgment voice, Curtis encouraged him: ”And what kind was that?”

”I wasn't shell-shocked, I found that I enjoyed being an Avenger and an operative. I didn't mind combat. I liked it,” at that Cap paused abruptly, like he was afraid he wasn't supposed to say that. All of them understood, though. Curtis nodded for him to continue. ”I was just – unhappy.”

”Do you want to elaborate?”

”Just being alone, I guess. Not knowing anybody more than a few weeks.” A pause. ”Still mourning Bucky, my – my best friend.”

Jesus. ”So you didn't think losing your best friend in battle and then practically dying and coming back home only after decades, finding that not only had everybody moved on, they were dead, wasn't, what, _tragic enough_?”

”Frank.” Curtis had only mild warning in his voice.

For the first time, the Captain looked him straight in the eye. He was very close and Frank found it uncomfortable. Frank didn't look away, though.

”It wasn't about how tragic or not it was, I just didn't think telling strangers I have no friends would make any difference,” Cap said not without bite, but for the most part genially enough.

”What changed?” Curtis asked.

Finally looking away, Cap shrugged. He crossed his arms, a subconscious defense. ”I got friends. I even got – somebody from back then.” A pause. ”And I still feel like I don't belong here.”

 

Rogers came back to the meetings almost every time after that. Frank tried his best to stay out of his way as much as possible but, well. Something about the man made Frank want to give him a piece of his mind, cut the self-sacrificing bullshit. Curt, the geek, would sometimes politely ask about the difference in experience in the 19-fucking-30s. All of the other guys lapped it up.

”We were disenchanted by the war – my father was killed in battle before I was born, which was not easy for us, me and my mother. Although sometimes I wonder if my mother wasn't relieved, too. We were very poor, but at least she had only me to worry about.”

Frank crossed his arms. ”So why'd you join the troops then, huh? You didn't need to. Yet you tried, what, ten times?”

Rogers took notice of him where he was sitting now opposite him. For a moment it seemed like the guy might not have answered, but finally, he opened his mouth.

”I was – idealistic,” he admitted. Then he chuckled and looked away. ”I suppose I still am. Also, Bucky'd been conscripted. I had nothing without him, ma was dead and there was certainly no one waiting for me.”

It was always Bucky this and Bucky that with Cap, Frank noted. ”What, you followed your boyfriend to war?”

”Frank,” Curtis admonished him at the same time as the guy on Frank's left side laughed nervously.

Curtis didn't have to worry about Frank hurting the poor Captain's feelings, though. He shrugged. ”Doesn't matter. It's nothing I haven't heard before, and usually from people who wanted to beat me up. Did beat me up.”

Frank scowled. He did kinda want to beat the guy up too. Here Frank was joking and now he was grouped up with some losers beating up gays. Or small, frail, un-serumed guys who were an easy enough target, Frank supposed.

”I – I enlisted with my best friend,” Jackson, the big guy with a clear preference to listen rather than talk, volunteered and broke the silence. When he had everybody's attention, he continued: ”I don't remember being naive about the war, but I guess I had to be. I mean, why else would losing Rafael still feel so bad? I knew it was a risk. I don't know if I really understood it, though.”

”Who's stupid enough to go to war if not a twenty-something guy or a girl with ideas or something to prove, right?” Frank said. Most of the gathered acknowledged it with a smile or a small laugh.

Rogers looked like he wanted to say something but decided against it. 

Probably something about Bucky.

Frank did get it: losing your brother and how it felt, of course he did. Still, Cap's trauma seemed to be a lot less about the violence and dying than one would think.

 

One time, after a month or so, Frank exited the club room, the last one to leave the meeting except for Curtis. He was barely a minute out of the building, hood up, when he realized somebody was following him. Long strides going as fast as Frank himself.

When the next alleyway came up, Frank dove quickly in. Maneuvering yourself into a dead end wasn't the best plan, but as long as it was just one guy, Frank would rather confront them than try to lose them. He was confident in his own skills.

Waiting in a ready stance Frank witnessed his follower stopping and turning into the alley. Seemed that the better bet would have been to run.

”You following me, Rogers?” Frank demanded the first thing. He didn't think the Captain would try to take him in – why wait this long – but he knew better than to trust anyone.

Rogers didn't seem surprised Frank was waiting for him. He took notice of Frank's raised arm but didn't take the challenge. He moved cautiously but slowly closer.

”I suppose so,” he answered. When he finally was all the way in the building's shadows with Frank, he stopped. ”I was waiting for you. You came out so quickly I didn't have the chance to talk to you.”

”That's what you want? To talk?” Frank asked incredulously.

Rogers looked away like there was an answer to that question he wasn't going to say. ”That, too.”

Normally Frank would have been on his way by now, but well. He was curious. He scoffed. ”Alright. Talk.”

Avoiding looking Frank in the eye, Cap said nothing. Frank was confused and also suspicious. Rogers was known for his eloquence – it had even become a joke with the guys these past weeks, the way he would give impromptu speeches about responsibility, self-acceptance, loneliness, the best seasonal vegetables. Now he was lost for words?

Was this a setup? He was playing time? It was probably very stupid of him, but somehow Frank didn't want to believe Rogers would set him up like this – okay, Frank did give him a piece of his mind sometimes, but a guy like Rogers could take it. There wasn't enmity between them, Frank was pretty sure. They'd gone to the same therapy for weeks now, they were, well, polite acquaintances. Politish. Something. Anyway, the bottom line was, Captain America, Rogers, wouldn't sell him out, wouldn't spy on him where he was baring his soul every week.

”Are you arresting me?” Frank asked anyway.

Rogers blinked. ”What? No – no I'm not arresting you,” he said quickly.

”I swear to God if you want to recruit me to your little freak-team – ”

Frank saw he was getting under Rogers's skin from the way the supersoldier's awkwardness morphed into steel in his eyes and in the way he set his jaw.

”I don't want to recruit you to _the Avengers_ , Castle.”

”Then what the hell is it?” Frank cursed, on the edge because of this unwanted confrontation. There simply wasn't any kind of good news Rogers could bring. Frank was sure he didn't want to compare thoughts on the last night's game. It had to have something to do with his activities – 

”Would you – would you like to go out with me?” Rogers seemed to force himself to ask.

The words didn't really compute especially compared with the close to hostile way Rogers said them.

”What?!” Frank demanded. What the hell kind of a joke was this?

Well, whatever it was, he was not here for it. His frustration, the whole situation – them standing in the alley where anyone could spot them and recognize them, especially Rogers, got to him.

Just as Rogers repeated himself Frank moved quickly, one, two steps until he was close to the man. With the third step, he took Rogers with him, arm on his neck, with the fourth step he slammed the supersoldier to the wall.

”Listen,” Frank growled, ”I'm sure you had a line of eager recruits falling to their knees, buying favors from their pretty CO, but you're out of your mind if you think you get that from me.”

Too easily Rogers pushed his arm away and the next thing Frank knew was Rogers flipping them over and tackling _him_ into the wall. He'd gotten his arm up reflexively to guard his neck, but the move took the air out of him.

”That's not what I meant at all,” Rogers stated, eyes cold.

”Yeah?” Frank hissed angrily to the man's face. He was very close to kneeing Rogers into his crotch.

Like sensing the threat Rogers took a step back, let Frank go. Sneering, he twisted his red mouth. ”I asked you out. Nothing else.”

Look, Frank knew English perfectly alright, even some Pashto and Italian. Yet he couldn't quite understand or believe what Rogers seemed to be telling him. He said nothing.

Rogers turned around to go. After a couple of steps he stopped but didn't turn to look at Frank when he said: ”I was told talking to fellas would be easier this century. Yet I feel like I would have gotten a better reception had I asked general Patton out.” He walked away.

Angry and confused Frank was left standing in the piss smelling alley alone.

 

Rogers didn't stop coming to the meetings. Instead, he just pretended like he didn't even notice Frank.

It was fine. Frank didn't need him. He'd do okay with that bridge burned. He would do alright alone and he wasn't. He had people. He had Curtis and Karen, hell, he even had Micro.

A coincidence, it was Micro that he had been thinking about recently. Their talks. He kind of felt the need to talk to someone. Not the vets, not like that. He didn't need more people he could talk about killing people and how his own government had betrayed him. He wanted to talk about – normal stuff.

The feeling stayed with him all through the current session so he uncharacteristically proposed beers to Curtis. Luckily, Curtis agreed without much fuss.

Bars were normally safe enough for Frank, nobody gave him much attention and anyway, not that many people had a good recollection of what Frank Castle looked like. Still, they opted for Curtis's apartment.

Despite agreeing readily to the beers, Curtis was obviously curious about Frank's motives. ”What's up?” He asked as soon as they had sat down in the small living room and opened their drinks.

Frank shrugged. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't really know what to say. He wasn't sure what exactly had brought up the want to talk in the first place.

Well. He had an idea.

”Ok. Then let me ask you what's up with you and Rogers?”

”What?” Frank asked, a bit shocked. How did Curt – ?

Curtis gave him a look. ”I don't know. Normally you like to give him a hard time – and that's fine. You'd think he appreciates not everybody being so damn respectful. Today you don't interrupt him once and he doesn't look at you once. Did he tell you to stop or what?”

”I don't give him a hard time,” Frank objected, missing the point on purpose.

Curtis took a long drink from his beer. ”Ok. Whatever you want to call it. The point is, you both acted differently from normal. I'm interested in why.”

Frank kind of, almost, could admit that this was exactly what he'd been after, a chance to discuss his – meeting with Rogers. Didn't mean it was suddenly easy to put the whole thing into words. Also, he found that he at the same time didn't want to talk about it. While the military had changed some in the years Frank had been in, he still had an aversion to talking about other people's business. And while Rogers had made it Frank's business as well, Frank could admit that the guy hadn't been out of line.

Frank might have reacted strongly, but at the end of the day, Rogers had only asked. He didn't deserve Frank going around gossiping about him.

”I don't know, maybe he just was less irritating today,” Frank said. 

”Okay, I see,” Curtis answered placatingly. ”We can change the subject.”

”Thank you,” Frank muttered sarcastically.

It took a couple of silent moment until Curtis went forward: ”I know we talk about adjusting back into the society a lot, but not necessarily everybody's own situation. How is your social life?”

Frank scowled. ”Fine, thanks.”

”I mean it. Cap was the one who made me think about it. While it can be hard to connect with your friends and family after you come back, most people luckily have at least someone they can try with. That they can fail with. He didn't, and I realized you didn't, not for some time at least. Am I right?”

”You know I didn't.”

”Has it changed?”

Frank shrugged. ”Maybe.”

He did have people he could count on. He wasn't sure he had people he could be with. He did have Curt, but Curt didn't seem to be counting himself.

”How's that reporter lady?”

”I'm sure she's fine,” Frank retorted.

”You seen her?”

Last time Frank had seen her she had almost died. Frank wasn't so keen on getting her into trouble again.

Reading Frank's silence on the matter correctly, Curtis sighed: ”I know you are in a difficult position. You still have a right to have some normalcy in your life, relationships.”

”I think more important than me having a right to relationships is my responsibility to not get anybody killed.”

”I understand you feel that way, after what you've been through. All the same, it's not good being alone. People aren't made for it.”

 

Frank didn't consider himself as being retired, but the attack surprised him so much he might as well have been. He should have thought the shocked way the waitress reacted to him could have been something personal, not just her recognizing him from the news.

After he had quickly vacated the premises he thought he had to look out for the police, not her. He didn't think she would follow him. 

Served him right she stabbed him in the back just when he had gotten open a latched door in a closed-down construction site, one of his hiding places.

As Frank was lying on the atrium of some would-be office, he got to give it to the woman that she didn't give him a speech. She simply saw her chance and took it. Frank hadn't even really seen her but was sure it was her. He assumed she was a daughter of some mobster he'd killed. He could get it. You loved who you loved.

Also, she hadn't been a professional since she hadn't made sure Frank was dead. She'd just run away.

Gasping from pain Frank fished his phone out of his pocket. He could just about see enough from the pain that he could call Curtis. He got his situation more or less explained before he made the mistake of trying to get up and passing out as a result.

 

When he came to, he wasn't on the concrete floor.

He wasn't on Curtis's sofa and he wasn't handcuffed into a hospital bed either. Instead, he was patched up and lying in pristine white sheets in a bedroom he'd never seen before. It didn't have much in it, but it was neat and airy with dark wood furniture. To him, it looked like a place agent Madani might live in.

Carefully, he sat up first. When the pain wasn't intolerable and he didn't lose his consciousness, he got slowly out of the bed. He had his pants about on – someone had unfastened his belt, but he had no shirt, shoes or socks. It wasn't the lack of clothes that made him open the drawer, he meant to look for a weapon. So he was surprised that it had men's clothing in it. He took a white T-shirt but putting it on turned out to be next to impossible. Raising his arm pulled at something in his shoulder, perks of getting stabbed. Grimacing he did it one-armed even though that felt like it might have opened a stitch or two.

He didn't bother being silent as he made his way out of the room. It wasn't going to be a surprise to the apartment's tenant that he was there.

Frank had already figured out it wasn't Madani's place. He still didn't know what to think when he saw Rogers reading a paper at a kitchen table. Luckily, he did know what to say: ”What the hell is this?”

Rogers put the paper down. Considered his words. ”This is me helping Curtis out.”

”And why would you do that?” Frank asked. ”Since when have you two even known each other?” Something Frank had wondered for a time now.

Patiently, Rogers said: ”My friend Sam recommended his group for me. I contacted Curtis to ask if it was alright I would take part in the group and also to check him out. He turned out to be as professional and good as Sam had said.”

Frank was skeptical. ”That's it?” 

”Do I need any more reason? I happened to be there when he got your call. I heard it. He knew I did and asked if I wanted to help him carry you.”

Frank was feeling weak and he hated it. He couldn't stay here, but he didn't see a quick way out. ”Why am I here?” He growled.

Rogers sighed. ”Curtis was having family over. I volunteered. Are you hungry?”

He was. He didn't answer. He glared.

”You should sit down. I can make you toast.”

This must have been a punishment of some kind. He very much wanted to sit and eat, but he had zero interest in playing home in Rogers's kitchen. Knowing he might do something rash soon, he tried to get a handle on his temper. Slowly he limped into the kitchen and sat down. Rogers wasn't a threat at the moment, he needed to play along.

In a minute Rogers brought a plate of rye toast with tomato, mozzarella, and basil on it. Frank took a bite.

Jesus. Ok, Rogers had his uses, apparently. 

”No chance of getting any coffee?”

 

Later, Rogers had gone out and left Frank alone. He knew he should leave, his back a mess or not, but even for him the thought of getting his gear on and traveling to a hiding place of his to sleep on a wonky bunk bed when there was a very nice clean bed right here where no one would ever guess to look for him was suddenly too much.

He'd had a lot worse, sure. He supposed he was tired in more ways than once.

Having made the decision he crawled into the soft linen and closed his eyes.

 

A couple of homemade meals and more sleep later Frank found himself still at Roger's place. The more time passed the less he seemed to mind the supersoldier. To be honest, he wasn't really sure what exactly about the Captain had annoyed him in the first place.

Maybe the way he seemed to get through almost anything and stay whole. He might talk about all kinds of shit experiences, but it never seemed to really bring him down.

_I nearly died seven times before I was an adult, a couple after that. Fearing death didn't cross my mind that much during the war, not when I had all of a sudden superhuman health._

_Father was killed by mustard gas, mom by tuberculosis. She was a nurse in a TB ward. I was 19._

_I took the job in SHIELD because they were the only people I knew. And of course, Peggy, someone I loved, founded it. She died last year._

Then there was Bucky. Had Rogers not clearly still been in pieces about the guy Frank could have believed the serum had supersoldiered his head, too. It was like he had a perfectly organized brain that didn't muddle his mind with anger and hate and fear, that let him function and keep moving despite the all of it. Then there was this one guy that tripped him up, made his mind stumble.

Frank wasn't so keen on _Bucky_ , no matter how human he made Rogers look like.

 

Day three Curtis called to say that he couldn't come today but based on his check up the day before, Frank could get his stitches wet. He could shower.

Which was nice. It was great. The only problem was, he couldn't dress his wounds himself. He could get the gauze off himself since it unraveled itself after he pulled at it, but he couldn't get it back on to protect the stitches, not when he couldn't raise his arms properly. There was an obvious solution for it, namely, Rogers, but Frank found it hard to ask his help for this.

Not only was asking help itself challenging, Frank had finally digested the fact that Rogers found him at least a little attractive. He was under no illusion that Rogers would try anything. Prancing around without a shirt still seemed – inappropriate.

In the end, Rogers made an offer of help himself when Frank asked for a towel. He acquiesced quickly. Bottom line was, he simply couldn't do it himself.

After his shower, he put his own jeans on, but let the t-shirt he'd borrowed stay on the counter. The balls of gauze were sitting on top of the shirt. Using his better arm, like he did everything with, he opened the door.

”You can come in now,” he shouted.

He'd turned around and went to stand in front of the mirror before Rogers came in. He didn't look at the guy, just nodded to where the gauze was.

”Can you raise your arms?” Rogers asked when he was right next to Frank.

Frank did as much as he could. He watched Rogers from the mirror, how he took in Frank's back and how he gently pressed the end of the gauze strip onto his skin. He had to reach around Frank to get the gauze around him, get very close. 

Frank didn't know what it was, Rogers didn't look any different than Curtis did when he did this but it felt different. He felt – nervous.

It was a quick thing, Frank's assailant had stabbed him twice, the wounds close to one another. When Rogers had taped the end of the gauze he finally looked up and returned Frank's gaze.

Something moved inside Frank, something melting hot. It unnerved him some, to suddenly feel like this, almost like the first time Maria had taken a hold of his hand, out of nowhere in a late summer evening.

He didn't know what to do about it. He wanted to escape from where he was standing shirtless two inches from Rogers, nailed to the spot by blue eyes made piercing by the yellow bathroom light. 

He cleared his throat and looked away. To his relief, Rogers backed off and went out of the bathroom.

 

The next day Frank was getting a bit restless scooped up at Rogers's place. While he still had his stitches he could move his arm around a bit without much pain.

He should have left already. Problem was, it was easy staying at Rogers's place. He did feel a slowly growing frustration because he wasn't doing anything, but he'd feel that no matter where he was. Here, Rogers had a nice place, a lot of food that he knew how to prepare and the man spent several hours away each day, giving Frank room to be alone.

When Rogers was home they would talk a bit every now and then and Curtis would visit daily. It was kind of nice.

He felt like he shouldn't like it so much, the weird kind of domesticity of it all, but it was something that he had apparently been missing. Being in war and being constantly reminded about your own mortality messed people up so that the normal seemed grey and pointless. How the hell could you stress about an electric bill when looking death in the eye was so familiar? Try to care about your job in retail after living literally in the crosshairs for years.

Frank hadn't thought some peace, company for breakfast and watching the TV was something he could enjoy anymore.

He'd thought his only joy would consist of outwitting an enemy and seeing the surprise on their face when they realized who Frank was.

Not waiting for Rogers to come home for dinner. Jeez. 

He guessed part of the easiness of it was Rogers being a soldier himself. It didn't feel like infiltrating some everyday household, like pretending a part of him hadn't been left in the desert, like the part of him that had returned to the homeland wasn't ruined by the murder of his family.

But here he was, standing in Rogers's kitchen and doing his best to slice up tomatoes for a side salad. The chicken fillets were in the pan already. He didn't care about preparing food that much, but he could do the basics and it was something to do.

He also didn't care about the look of pleased surprise on Rogers's face when he came back and saw the table made, but it was a small price to pay for not feeling useless.

”You're feeling okay?” Rogers asked having sat down and filled his plate, emphasis on the word _filled_. Frank had taken notice of the amount of food the supersoldier put away and made double portions.

Frank gave a small shrug. ”Okay enough.”

”Did Curtis come around?”

Frank nodded. He took a bite out of his chicken. Curtis had come. He had checked the wounds and said he could leave the protecting gauze and let his stitches get air. 

”Did he tell you how long until you get better?”

Frank swallowed, feeling ire raise its head underneath his skin. ”Listen, I can leave anytime. I can be out of your hair in less than five minutes.”

Rogers didn't put his utensils down, only gave him a bit of a glare. ”I didn't imply that. You are welcome as long as needed. Longer, even. I asked after your health because I hope you get well.”

Frank would have resented the reasonable tone if the guy hadn't clearly made Frank seem like an overreacting idiot on purpose, if he hadn't clearly enjoyed it.

”Why?”

”Why I hope you get well?” Rogers asked.

”No. Why am I welcome here? Don't say it's a favor to Curt. You can't have known Curt so long you'd owe him a favor this big. Helping pick up a stab victim and providing a roof for a day or two? Sure, why not. You're Captain America. Harboring a wanted murderer days on end is another thing.”

Before Rogers could answer Frank continued: ”And I'm a murderer, make no mistake. Have been for a long time.”

”I know,” Rogers said. 

Frank was left silent.

”I don't think you were right in what you've done,” Rogers said. ”Acting out of revenge leads to nothing but more violence. I know people look at you and think you're doing what our systems are incapable of doing. They think that maybe some people don't deserve a second chance – ”

”Some people don't even get their first chance because of people like that,” Frank cut in.

Rogers nodded. ”I know. And certainly, there are situations that make it next to impossible for everyone to walk out alive. I'm hardly in any position to judge you killing. But I can't agree with the principle of one man deciding who gets to live and who doesn't.”

”Yet here you are, having a dinner with me.” _And there you were, asking me out_ , he thought.

”I can understand even if I don't agree. And _I_ do believe in second chances.”

”You think I'm going to change?”

”Maybe. And I think that if you want to save the innocent, if, when you close your eyes you think about the people you couldn't save and not just about the people you want to kill, we have enough common ground.”

Frank sneered, suppressing thoughts of Kandahar and Zubair. He didn't care about giving second chances, but he did know Rogers was right when it came to violence breeding violence. He knew how empty he had felt after he'd finished with the mobs. He knew he'd been relieved when he found new culprits. He knew liking killing wasn't right. But better than all that, he knew he wasn't a good man.

”That's not much,” Frank said.

”I disagree. More than that, you have reached out. You go to the group. You have friends that know you and are loyal to you. I don't think you're that bad.”

Frank shook his head, disbelieving. _Not that bad?_

”Anyway,” Rogers continued. ”You're not the first wanted man I've harbored.”

”So, what? It's a hobby?”

Rogers chuckled. ”Sure, why not? Have to say, your cooking's better.”

”Oh, yeah? Captain America prefers my cooking? I could start a restaurant with that recommendation,” Frank joked.

”I feel I have to inform you your competition burned a frozen pizza,” Rogers said.

”Doesn't matter, people will flock in anyway.”

Amused, Rogers said: ”Then I'm glad I could help you with a career plan. You must tell Curtis, he'll be proud.”

”Fuck off,” Frank told him, nicely.

”Maybe practice your customer service skills first, though.”

”Fuck. Off,” Frank repeated, now smiling.

Rogers pointed at his food on the plate. ”I could, but then I'd miss finishing this amazing dry chicken.”

Frank didn't choke at that, but just barely. ”Here I was thinking you were some sort of – good  
manners personified.”

Rogers's eyes were dancing. ”I have impeccable manners.”

”Your mom told you that?”

Rogers chuckled. Looking away for a second, remembering, he said: ”Actually, she never said anything positive about my manners.”

”Oh, really?”

”She thought I was too contrary.”

”My mom thought I'd end up in prison.”

They sat silently for a moment after that, Rogers looking at him with understanding eyes. Then he mused aloud: ”To be fair to your mom, the only thing keeping you out of prison is that you are far too dangerous and competent a criminal.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Frank rolled his eyes. ”Well, your mom was dead right on you.”

As if trying to prove his mom wrong, Rogers didn't disagree.

 

The better he got the harder it became to sleep the whole night through. Sometimes it took hours to get sleep, sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night.

One time he barely got an hour during the night and around 6 AM he decided to give up trying. He got up and went to sit at the counter in Rogers's kitchen. He didn't put the lights or coffee on, just stared out of the window where the early morning light revealed people hurrying to work, coming home from a night out, whatever. 

Seeing that it was the first time Frank was up and about before eight it was understandable he caught Rogers unaware when the man came out of his studio slash makeshift bedroom number two. It wasn't a big deal, there wasn't much chance Rogers would really be surprised with his super senses and all. However, he hadn't realized to put any clothes on other than those he slept in.

The clothes he slept in happened to consist of sleep pants low on his hips and nothing else.

The Marines had been Frank's life for so long that seeing half-naked men wasn't anything special. 

And yet.

He kind of looked a bit too long and then looked away a bit too quickly. Rogers had stopped for a second there, too, when he noticed Frank was already up. Then, probably realizing as well that half-naked men were part of their common culture, he continued his way to the kitchen. 

”Coffee?” He asked Frank.

Frank cleared his throat: ”Yeah, sure.”

Rogers puttered around the kitchen, measuring water and getting the ground coffee. Frank looked out of the window and saw nothing. Why was he feeling so weird about this? Rogers was buff, sure, more news at eleven. It shouldn't have got him like this.

Feeling relieved when Rogers retreated into the bathroom, Frank wondered if it wasn't the consciousness of their situation that made him react like this. He could have ignored all the stuff that came up to his mind when he saw Rogers's perfect chest if the guy had happened to be just another soldier he was sharing with. He'd learned to do that well before his service.

Instead, Rogers was interested in him, and Frank knew it.

He remembered Micro's words, had been thinking about them often enough.

_Don't you miss sex?_

Of fucking course he did. He didn't think he could ever truly get over Maria and what had happened. Didn't mean his body wasn't working. Didn't mean he didn't have wants and thoughts. Didn't mean he didn't ache to feel bare skin against his, didn't yearn to feel satisfied and sweaty with someone lying in his arms.

And here Frank was, playing house with a decent, pretty guy who wanted to give him those things. Maybe.

And the sort of mind-blowing thing was, nobody would go after Captain America because he had a connection to the Punisher. 

Neither some New York mobster nor the government would ever risk getting the Avengers on their tail even in the very unlikely scenario that they assumed Rogers was somehow connected to Frank. Captain America had his own enemies and they were most of them the world-destroying kind. Simply put, Frank couldn't put Rogers in any more danger than he already was.

Distantly hearing the water turn off Frank realized it didn't really matter that from a certain viewpoint Rogers seemed like a good opportunity to get some. Even if Frank knew how the hell to propose a thing like that with a guy, he'd turned Rogers down quite clearly before. That might have made Rogers change his mind already. Not to mention that now that he knew how damn empty Frank was, how dull he was, he'd certainly lost whatever interest he'd had.

And if that wasn't enough, it wasn't exactly like Frank knew what to do with guys. What was expected of him. No matter how much he liked how Rogers looked, he might not even like being intimate with him.

Like usual, he was better off on his own.

 

Having had made up his mind about the whole situation with Rogers, Frank realized he should be gone already. Not wanting to have a conversation about it, he simply took off later that day when Rogers had gone on his daily business. 

He'd tried to leave a note, but no words had come to him. In the end, he'd prepared a meal and left it in the fridge. 

A thank you of sorts, he figured, and anyway, he didn't want Rogers to think he'd been taken or some shit and have him come after him.

 

He took a couple of more weeks off before going back to the group. Curtis didn't seem to buy his excuse of feeling a bit low still. Frank didn't care as long as Curtis kept his opinions about the subject to himself.

Then, the first time he went back Rogers wasn't there. Frank kind of wanted to ask Curtis if the guy still came at all, but he couldn't find a way that wasn't transparent.

The next time, the same thing.

The time after that Frank finally saw Rogers, almost a month after he'd been living with him. All of that felt like a dream sequence now that he had gotten used to his own gloomy hole of an apartment.

It was a bit of an anti-climax in the sense that Rogers didn't seem to even notice Frank. Frank felt like all his annoyance from before the incident had been renewed. He nearly gave in to the temptation to call out the rest of the vets out on the stupid idolization, how they hung on every word the wonderbread spouted. In the end, he stayed silent until the end at which point he stormed out. 

Nobody followed him.

 

Rogers came back to the group only once after that. Nothing worthy of notice happened during the session, so maybe the blondie got cured of his PTSD.

Maybe he got cured of his loneliness.

Frank knew he would never be cured of his.

He didn't really deserve to be.


	2. Chapter 2

No matter what some misguided fools thought, Frank wasn't any kind of hero. He hadn't killed mobsters out of love for other people: his fuel had been revenge. 

He still didn't go out of his way to look to help people, but he would take a stance if he happened to find himself in the middle of a situation. He'd leave before the cops came.

Nursing a bottle of cheap brandy on a rooftop with a view to the Hudson he was pulled into that kind of situation. Tires screeching a dark van drove into the less used old harbor area. A light was turned on on the deck of the rough looking trawler that Frank had thought was empty.

Considering this part of the pier was closed during the everlasting construction of the area and that it was well past midnight, it wasn't probably very legal whatever it was that happened down there.

It wasn't a surprise, then, when the driver and passenger of the van strode quickly to the back door of the vehicle and pulled out their guns. Pointing them straight ahead they pulled the door open. Two more men came out, dragging a third one. The men with the guns relaxed their hold a bit but continued to aim at the general direction of the man in chains who could barely walk.

 _Shit_ , Frank cursed.

He wanted to be able to ignore it, it wasn't his business, but at the same time, he knew he didn't want to be a part of a system that let shit happen out of convenience.

Putting down his bottle he silently began to make his way towards the fire escape. Most likely it was about a gang rivalry and he might end up saving a thug from a deserved end in with the sharks.

Jumping the last six feet down to the street level Frank lost his eyesight to the people dragging the chained man.

Quickly, he sprinted until he got close to the group, taking cover from behind a partly demolished shed.

He hadn't gotten too far with the brandy, but his sight, his senses didn't feel as sharp as they should have. Yet, no matter how drunk he had been, he would have known the profile of the man being dragged towards the boat.

The shock of recognization was so strong he wondered if he wouldn't have known Rogers blind.

Cursing at himself for not taking any firepower with him, Frank began to silently make his way towards the van. There was a chance they had left a gun inside.

When they all were on board the boat Frank ran crouched the last meters towards the car. As silently as he could he opened the door not facing the boat. Quickly checking through the glove box and underneath the seats, he did find a semi-automatic. It wasn't a rifle but it had to do.

It concerned him a bit that these guys had gotten hold of Rogers, had gotten him chained and most likely drugged. While he wasn't one of Cap's groupies, he did know what the man could do in a battle. There was little else he could do but try not to underestimate his opponents, though. While he might have been on the fence about a random joe or jack getting mixed up with the wrong people, Rogers was a completely different thing.

Frank owed him, for one.

The second reason he didn't really have to put into words, neither did he have time for it. As he ran crouched towards the boat someone came out – going back to the car most likely: it couldn't be left on the pier if they wanted to cover their traces.

That was unlucky. Frank had to take him out before being seen – an easy feat in itself, but the people on the boat would most likely notice if the car stayed put. Very naturally he went into his battle mode: do whatever is needed to guarantee the success of the mission. The man had to be taken out, so Frank stepped into his path and hit him in the head with the butt of the gun.

Easy enough. What the hell had Rogers been doing getting caught by people like this?

Since the people on the boat supposedly expected the car to start soon, that's what Frank went to do: start the car.

Sitting behind the wheel Frank came to next logical conclusion: he couldn't really leave the car, that would raise suspicions too quickly, so he had to drive it.

Where to was easy enough to realize. He had a supersoldier to save, he couldn't leave.

Putting the car in reverse he got some distance, some space to accelerate the car.

After fastening his seatbelt he hit the gas. Getting the car go as fast as it could in the fifty feet or so, he flew it off the pier and straight into the side of the boat. It was a bit risky, worst case scenario was he'd hit Rogers. The crash wasn't big enough to be fatal though, not to a supersoldier.

A car lodged in the side of the boat did make the boat unnavigable, though. Frank, having himself survived the crash without much trouble, unfastened his seatbelt and crawled out of the car. He got out and on to the deck just in time to point the gun at people coming out from below the deck.

He recognized the guys that had brought Rogers in the car. He shot them both. Not in the head or chest: he didn't aim to kill, not really.

He knew there was little chance these people weren't the mafia, but he couldn't be sure. Sure, they had automatic rifles and they had kidnapped Captain America. But maybe, just maybe, it was a staged practice or something. Frank had come completely blind to this situation. He couldn't be sure. It had nothing to do with Rogers's talk about second chances.

He did shoot to inflict a lot of pain.

Knowing the car and the shots had warned anybody still inside about a threat Frank closed in on the cabin door from the side: he didn't want to get shot through the door.

Staying off the middle and crouching he opened the door. He didn't exactly have surprise on his side after the gunshots and putting a car into the side of the boat: not being front and center still seemed to give him an edge. A lone man was standing next to Rogers lying on the ground. Instead of aiming his gun towards Rogers – which actually would have made Frank pause, the idiot aimed it blindly at the opening door.

Frank had enough time that he could get a clear shot, right through the man's right shoulder. Screaming, the man dropped his gun.

Since he was still standing (while Rogers _wasn't_ ), Frank sunk another bullet into his flesh, this one on his knee.

Ignoring the clamor the man made, Frank kneeled where Rogers was, trying his pulse. It was beating like mad – Rogers's eyes were unfocused: he was drugged. Frank cursed.

Knowing he would pay in pain for it, he pulled Rogers first to sitting position, then all the way up and hoisted him into a fireman's carry. Frank had recovered well enough from the stabbing, but the full, unconscious weight of a supersoldier wasn't an easy feat.

Gritting his teeth he carried Rogers out of the wreck. He wanted to run, but he didn't want to risk falling. 

Of course he noticed that one of the men he'd shot first was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't have stopped and looked for him, not with Rogers out cold.

That meant that when the shot ripped through his side he wasn't exactly surprised.

He was surprised he didn't drop down right there. Instead, he, somehow, continued on. If only he could get to the shadow of a building he could put Rogers down just for a second.

Another shot went past him.

The next one got him on his calve. He fell on his knees. After that, it was far too easy to fall the rest of the way.

The last thought he had was that the next time he would kill first, ask questions later

 

This time when he came to it was very clear he wasn't in the home of anybody he knew, himself.

The room he was in was like from an extremely exclusive private hospital. Weird thing was, there was a picture of Rogers on the wall.

Or, Frank supposed, taking in the red, white and blue color scheme of the piece, a picture of Captain America.

He wasn't in any noticeable pain, so he carefully tried to sit up.

It was a lot easier than he could have thought possible after getting shot twice.

Pushing the covers away he saw his leg was not only in one piece but without a mark.

He started to feel nervous: was he sleeping? Was this a hallucination?

When he stood up and no sudden pain took him down he knew something was very wrong. He should have been either in the morgue or at least bedridden.

He did feel sore, the leg he was shot in felt different than the other. A weird shadow of a pain in his side.

Most of his clothes were missing once again, this time he didn't even have his jeans. He was saved from complete nudity by his underwear only.

Disoriented by the weirdness of it all, he stumbled when the door suddenly opened. He hadn't heard anyone coming closer, no footsteps – he hadn't heard anything at all before the click of the door handle. That meant very expensive soundproofing.

The all of it pointed towards some sort of secret, well-funded government project. Maybe he was a guinea pig for new healing-enhancing drugs.

His thoughts got interrupted when he realized he recognized the man who came in.

He supposed Tony Stark was a lot better option than some of the ones he'd made up himself, but at the same time, he was unwillingly getting closer to the sort of people he wanted to stay away from. He didn't want to be on the radar of somebody so well connected and banked up as Stark was.

”Sleep well?”

Frank wasn't too keen on the faux-casualness Stark oozed but figured he'd play along for now.

”Just fine, thanks,” he replied, couldn't quite smile.

”Good,” Stark said, pretending to check his phone. He glanced up again, ”I would hate it if you gave us a bad review on TripAdvisor.”

Frank crossed his arms. He knew he wasn't too imposing nearly naked, but he didn't want to show that he was bothered by the lack of clothes. ”What did you do to me?” He asked, didn't think he needed to elaborate.

”You mean, how did we save you from months of bed rest, surgeries and physiotherapy?”

Frank sneered. ”I was shot in the leg – ”

”And through your right lung. Also, you kind of dislocated your jaw when you planted your face to the ground with 200 pounds of supersoldier on your shoulders.”

Like a reflex, Frank looked down where there was merely a pink patch of skin on his right sight, no sign of a wound.

”Thanks can be sent to the lovely doctor Helen Cho and her cutting-edge tissue-regenerating technology.”

Tissue-regenerating...? ”This the sort of shit you rich folk hoard up nowadays? Instant cure for bullet holes?”

Stark looked annoyed. ”Not quite,” he said. He pocketed the phone inside the tailored suit jacket. ”I've been just reading about you, Castle, and I got to say I'm conflicted whether to be impressed by the number of bodies you've left behind or horrified about the type of company Cap keeps nowadays.”

”You're horrified Rogers hangs out with murderers?” Frank asked with an amused twist to his mouth. ”Thought that was part of his shtick.”

Frank didn't really mean Stark so much as the guy Rogers had talked about, before, but seeing the closed off look Stark adopted Frank realized that's how he took it. Frank sighed inwardly. Civilians never stomached killing well. 

Well, he wasn't going to comfort the bastard. A change of subject, then. ”Listen, I get that you're into, what, green energy or something now, robots and aliens and stuff, but you don't think there's a Stark S-18 lying around here anywhere? I swear that gun saved my life more than once.”

”Are you fucking kidding me?” Stark asked and took a step forward.

It wasn't what Frank had expected. ”What? That's a great fucking gun.”

Stark stared at him for a long moment before he seemed to get over whatever it was that had gotten to him. He snorted. ”It is, yeah. I designed it.”

”Always preferred it to the S-19, though that was worlds better than the Hammer shit we got after you ended your contracts,” Frank continued.

”Jesus,” Stark mumbled. ”I'd forgotten I once had so inept enemies. Makes Thanos look a bit bad though, to be on the same list with Justin fucking Hammer.”

A silence descended with Stark inside his own mind.

”If not the gun, do you think there's a chance of getting any clothes around here?”

 

After he got the clothes and Stark had left him with a briefing on which parts of the Avengers compound he could go and which he couldn't, Rogers came to see him.

He'd wanted to ask Stark about Rogers, was he okay, but he had read that from between the lines. No way Stark would have talked about him so easily had he been in a critical condition – no way Frank would even be here, completely healed, if Rogers himself wasn't in a lucid, decision making state. So he'd not said a word about him. He had no need to seem concerned about the supersoldier.

But he had been, and he couldn't but feel immense relief to see Rogers in his regular, tip-top shape.

”What the hell was that?” He asked the first thing, angry in contrast to his relief when Rogers had barely gotten into the room.

Rogers closed the door. ”What the hell was what?”

”You getting kidnapped by some second-rate thugs? I thought you'd be safe from that kind of threats!” Frank knew he'd raised his voice but goddammit, he'd gotten shot twice himself saving the idiot from a situation a person with Rogers's skills and mileage should never have gotten in in the first place.

Rogers had the sense to look embarrassed. ”People have gone missing. Not your regular folk, but enhanced people, kids.”

”Alright,” Frank said. ”And?”

Rogers replied steadily: ”I went to investigate. When it became clear I was also a target to them, I decided to play along for a bit, to see where they were taking me.”

”You were there _by your own fucking design_?”

Rogers grimaced. ”In a way. I didn't expect the drug to hit me so hard.”

Frank took a step closer. He was pissed. ”And what if they'd wanted to take you somewhere private to put a bullet to your head?”

Rogers had the gall to shrug. ”Then I suppose I might be dead.”

Frank breathed hard, he was _this_ close to doing something unadvised. ”I don't know where you get off toying with your life like it doesn't matter – ”

”Going alone against multiple mobs isn't toying with your life?” Rogers countered quickly and ruthlessly.

”We're not talking about me,” Frank said. ”And that was before. Hell, we all know I wasn't in the best place during that shit.”

Rogers shrugged again, but this time he looked away. Didn't say anything.

Shit. 

Frank wasn't exactly the type to give out hugs, but he was a bit of the type. A kid got a scrape or a girl got bad news, he could be there, he knew how to let them lean on him. He was a father, alright? Rogers on the other hand? He'd rarely met a guy with so unapproachable an aura.

Frank realized that was one of the reasons Rogers still felt like an outsider at times, the fact that people didn't function normally around him. Didn't see him like anybody else. Maybe he got friends, but maybe that wasn't enough if the rest of the world kept him at an arm's distance.

Right, okay. He was sure this couldn't get much worse. He breached the distance between them and put an arm loosely around Rogers's shoulders. ”Alright,” he murmured. ”It's alright.”

Rogers didn't break down or anything, but he didn't pull away, either. After a moment he even relaxed into the hold. Frank put his other arm into it and turned the effort into a full hug.

After a while, they separated. Rogers puffed out a laugh. ”For the record, I didn't think it was that dangerous, and I don't think my assessment was so much about a lack of self-preservation than it was about living through world-ending danger enough times that my scaling's a bit off.”

It was nice seeing Rogers smiling, Frank thought.

He stepped backward and cleared his throat. ”You know they aren't easily separated.”

”I know.”

A short silence descended where they sort of just looked at one another. It was – less uncomfortable than Frank would have thought.

”Why'd you stop coming to the group?” Frank asked before he could stop himself.

Rogers breathed in deep, like weighing whether to answer or not. He even turned to go before stopping and saying: ”I got the feeling you didn't want me there.”

He left the room leaving Frank standing there alone. It felt a bit like déjà vu.

 

It was somewhat later and Frank had managed to find something to eat and look around without bumping into anyone. He was kind of disgusted by the detail and money that had obviously been used on the complex: it was a training facility for a fighting unit but felt like a mix between a high-tech corporate office and a luxury resort. 

Yet, while he appreciated simplicity and even asceticism to a certain point, he felt kind of envious that he spent most of his nights in some rat-infested closet when other, similar people spent their days in opulence. 

He did think material comforts unimportant in the big picture. Didn't mean he hadn't missed sleeping in Rogers's bed.

And speaking of the man, Frank knew he had to talk things through with him before leaving. Sooner rather than later. 

He found Rogers brooding in an office.

Frank cleared his throat.

Rogers, arms resting on the table, quirked an eyebrow.

”Listen,” Frank started. It wasn't the most comfortable situation for him, confronting somebody about – emotions. He combed his hand through his hair. It was getting too long again.

”I'm listening,” Rogers said.

”I don't care if you go to the group or not. You want to go, you go.”

Rogers seemed to mull that over. Carefully, he said: ”I don't think you actively wanted me out.”

Slowly, Frank nodded. ”Yeah.”

”But I was thinking that maybe me being there was making you uncomfortable.”

Frank scoffed. ”What do you mean?” He wasn't sure he wanted an answer.

”You left without a word when you were staying at my place. So – ”

”Yeah, but had I stayed longer, I'd have had to pay you rent.”

”That's why you sneaked off without a word? Why you didn't come to the group for weeks after?” Rogers countered ruthlessly.

Frank had an aversion feeling this cornered, but he figured he kinda owed it to Rogers to try to convince him to continue in the group. If he got any help there, especially the kind that prevented him from playing a bait to kidnappers, Frank was all for it.

”What does it matter what I do or don't do, huh? I don't own the damn group.”

Rogers shrugged. ”Maybe not. That's Curt's group though, and it's a lot easier for me to find a new place than for you.”

”And have you?” Frank demanded. ”Found a new place?”

Rogers didn't rise to the bait. ”I haven't had the time.”

”Yeah, I suppose getting kidnapped would keep you busy – ”

”Alright,” Rogers said and stoop up. Frank straightened up himself. He didn't think Rogers would hit him, but there was a clear feel of a challenge in the air.

”I'll come to the group,” Rogers said. Before Frank could reply, he continued: ”I'll come to the group, but for that, I'd like you to be honest with me.”

That sounded uncomfortable, something Frank would have liked to avoid, if possible. Still, he reluctantly nodded.

”I might be completely off – and I promised myself I would not bring this up ever again. But you seem – concerned. About me. That right?”

Frank clenched his jaw. He scoffed. The extremely soft high-end T-shirt he was wearing suddenly felt constricting. Felt weird. Not something he was used to. A bit like this thing with Rogers.

”If that's right,” Rogers went on when Frank didn't give him an answer, verbal one at least, ”and if you're concerned because you feel something – ” here Rogers stumbled with his words, fell silent. He was flustered, Frank realized. Oh, hell.

Frank desperately wanted to flee, but he was rooted on the spot. Not by Rogers's eyes this time, since he was looking anywhere but where Frank was. He couldn't move because he knew he would go over this afternoon and the _what if_ of it a thousand times while having a solitary drink on a wet, moldy rooftop if he ran.

”If you are interested – and I know you said no, well. That's how I took it when you slammed me into the wall... But I've wondered. First because of how you always pick on me. And then how you looked at me. And now how you are angry for me being in danger. So.”

Frank swallowed. ”So?”

”Did you mean 'no'?”

You'd think a one-word answer would be easy. Deflecting, ”I don't know. I didn't expect that.”

Rogers frowned. ”Okay.”

There was obviously room for Frank to elaborate. He didn't. Rogers crossed his arms, looking more and more uncomfortable with the situation. With Frank. It was hell for Frank, too. There was a reason he'd dated women. There were rules, codes of conduct. Women were, no offense, often good with talking about their feelings. Frank could just go along with them. But this? How the hell could two emotionally constipated soldiers do anything about – anything?

”Okay,” Rogers said again, now somehow deflated. ”I suppose that's that. I – I'm sorry I brought this up.” He walked around the table, heading for the door. Hand almost to the handle he said: ”Won't happen again.”

Frank realized this would be the third time he'd be left standing stupidly alone while Rogers took off having the wrong fucking impression.

The dread of a missed chance creeping up his spine he knew he needed to do something to make this go differently. But he couldn't say anything, he didn't know how. The only other way he could stop Rogers was using force. By grabbing his hand.

Rogers stopped and turned amiably enough that he wasn't yet afraid he'd made a mistake.

When staring into Rogers's questioning eyes didn't give him any clue as to what to say, he decided he'd always been more a man of action.

Heart in his throat he stepped close to Rogers and went and kissed him. Just like that.

If he was surprised at his own bravery himself, so was Rogers. Rogers gasped against his lips and broke apart.

Frank had noticed before that Rogers had two common looks: determined and confused. Gaze searching and mouth slightly open he looked definitely both at the moment. Frank leaned back in slowly enough that he could see the confusion melt away.

Rogers being clean-shaven and soft-lipped, Frank could have almost fooled himself he was kissing a woman. He found quickly that he didn't want to. Hearing Rogers groan between their mouths was hot as hell, having to cant his head slightly upwards felt exciting, though not nearly as exciting as putting his hands on muscled back. 

Not consciously meaning to he soon had Rogers pushed against the door. The kissing had been aggressive from the get-go, an attempt to sate the hunger for contact that had gnawed at his insides for so long. And more than that, he wanted to put his mouth on the skin he'd gotten a peek at that one early morning in Rogers's kitchen. He wanted to get Rogers completely naked and find out what it felt like with another man. Short and simple, he wanted Rogers.

Maybe it was the desert of a spell he'd had the past years, with violence his most common means of human contact, or maybe it was the way Rogers kissed him back like he wanted to climb inside Frank – whatever it was, Frank had tremors run through his body with how good it was.

Then it stopped as abruptly as it had started. Rogers pulled away. 

Panting and disoriented, Frank was reluctant to untangle from the flushed and beautiful mess Rogers made. 

”The walls are glass,” the supersoldier gave as an explanation.

Almost expecting to see Stark warming up his repulsors from the Iron Man armor, Frank looked out to the hallway. It was empty.

Frank nodded. Then, clearing his throat: ”You got a room?”

”Yes,” Rogers said and licked his lips. Frank knew what they tasted like. ”But for all that the walls there are opaque, it's not ideal if you value your privacy.”

”What's that mean? You got cameras there?”

”Not exactly. There is an artificial intelligence system monitoring the whole place, though. She wouldn't say anything unprompted, but maybe somebody starts to wonder where you went. You don't have a full clearance, so that information isn't protected.”

Frank wasn't sure if Rogers meant just to inform him, or if Rogers wanted to keep this a secret himself. Frank didn't really see it necessary to advertise the whole thing to anybody, but on the other hand, how soon could he get to Rogers somewhere else? He counted quickly that it was five days until the next group meeting. That was longer than it seemed doable to him right now.

The truth was also that he was out of his element, here. In many ways. He didn't have his own clothes, his stuff, he wasn't even sure where the hell he was, exactly. Something happened, he wasn't prepared. Ideal would be that he left now, got ready and met Rogers at his place, later. They could eat, maybe, get into it slowly. He kinda liked the idea of taking his time. 

He stepped backward, clearly away from Rogers's personal space. 

”So. You got plans later?”

 

After some stuttering, they'd managed to make plans on the following day. Rogers had seen Frank off, driven him to a station. He'd even gotten out of the car to say goodbye.

It had been kind of awkward. They hadn't kissed.

Not that Frank had expected that. In the daylight, in the middle of a street, they couldn't linger long in case they got recognized. While Frank was pretty safe, Rogers wasn't, and once somebody noticed Captain America, they might start to wonder whom he was with.

Back at his small hidey-hole Frank fell on the bed. He sighed deeply. He felt very awake, almost jittery, so there wasn't much of a chance he'd fall asleep. He just wanted to take a minute and – think.

He had a date lined up with Captain America. Well, Rogers, really. 

But still. He snorted. Who'd have ever believed that? He'd never really shared that he had an interest in men with anyone – and why would he have? He'd had girlfriends, a wife. Most if not all of his friends were military and he'd started to serve under Don't Ask, Don't Tell. Sure, he could have told somebody like Billy or Curt. They wouldn't have thought too badly about it. Yet, it never really came up. 

He hadn't gotten far with his musings when he received a message to his phone.

_Could we meet?_

That was Karen's number. Frank swiftly texted back an affirmative. The river bank on the Brooklyn side, their usual place.

It had been months he'd last seen her. He knew Karen didn't contact him for anything unimportant, so it wasn't a hard decision to go. He kinda wished it was nothing, though. For the first time in a while, he felt that he didn't need a distraction.

 

He was first on the spot, Karen arriving not a lot longer. From what Frank could see, she didn't seem too nervous. He had high hopes it wasn't anything that threatened her life.

She was smiling when she greeted him with a 'hi'. Frank couldn't but smile back. It was nice seeing her.

”What's up?” Frank asked. 

”I'm researching a story. A lead led to you and I was hoping you could help me get a better picture what's going on,” she answered, upfront. That's what Frank liked about her, she didn't beat around the bush and she didn't play any games.

Frank shrugged. ”I don't know. I've been living on the down low, not getting mixed up with anything.”

Raising her eyebrows she chuckled: ”I'm not sure I believe that. Anyway, the story I'm interested in has to do with three kidnappings in the area, two of them underage.”

”You think I've been kidnapping kids?” Frank asked, not seriously. The words he'd said made him stop, though. _People have gone missing. Not your regulard folk, but enhanced people, kids._

Karen saw him hesitate. With vigor, she went on: ”Last evening there was a shootout in Hell's Kitchen. The Avengers were there. When the police arrived, three men were tied up, each one of them with a record. Two of them with bullet wounds fixed up in the spot by some sort of foam – Stark tech, apparently. According to the Avengers, the gang had drugged and taken Captain America.”

”And this has got to do with me, because?”

”Well. Allegedly one of the men tied up had said a guy shot him. He said that it was the Punisher. So,” Karen was smiling. ”Being the investigative journalist that I am, I decided to find out if it was true.”

”You believe it?”

”The men were shot multiple times. The police report says their car was driven into a boat. The Avengers maintain just Stark and Captain America were there, Stark having been the only part of the rescue mission. Neither of them is known to shoot guns and I have difficulties picturing why a man in a flying tank suit would drive a car. Or why Cap would drive it into the boat after he was freed.”

”So it had to be me?”

”Was it?”

Frank had little interest to lie to Karen, no matter how private a person he was. ”I was there, but by coincidence. I was passing when I saw them. I went to investigate. I don't know anything about them, who they are, what they are doing.”

Karen sighed. ”Okay. Will you tell me if you find anything out?”

”Fine.”

Karen nodded, satisfied with that. After a silence, she asked: ”How have you been?”

”I've managed,” Frank, well, managed.

Karen smiled at him with that cute way she had, head bowed a bit to hide it. ”Okay. That's not vague and uninformative at all.”

Frank snorted. ”What do you want to hear?”

”I don't know. Have you – uh, tried new restaurants? New hobbies?” She proposed.

”Like what? Ultimate frisbee? Golf?”

Karen burst out laughing. ”Alright. What about meeting new people? Got any hot dates lined up?”

She was teasing him, obviously. Yet, he couldn't get the right reaction out in time. More than that, he froze.

Karen's eyes widened. ”Wait – really? With whom?”

Frank was not answering that. It probably showed in his face since Karen backtracked. ”Not that it's any of my business, of course. Sorry.” 

Frank was relieved, but not. ”It's fine,” he said. It didn't feel right that Karen apologized for being curious. They were friends, after all. There had been an attraction between them, too, Frank was pretty sure. Maybe he kind of owed her to show some trust in this.

He looked away, embarrassed somewhat. ”It's probably nothing,” he said.

Karen smiled, obviously pleased to get something out of Frank. ”I'm sure she doesn't think that.”

Right. It was a fair assumption that Frank wasn't too keen on correcting. He realized it meant he wasn't so easy with dating a guy he had pretended to be.

Look, he intellectually knew it was fine, guys with guys. When he'd first got kids he'd decided he wouldn't be like his own father had been, making it impossible to bring any of that up by spouting hateful shit days on end. He'd wanted to be a dad his kids could tell stuff.

He wondered if he was silent now, would that have meant that the lesson he would have given forward would have been one of silence: it's fine, but never say a word about it.

He'd been living his own Don't Ask, Don't Tell for his whole life. Now, when there was nothing threatening him, not his father and not dishonorable discharge, he was still silent?

”He.”

Karen froze. ”What?”

”You're sure _he_ doesn't think that,” Frank corrected.

Frank kinda enjoyed he'd surprised Karen completely. She quickly collected herself, though. ”Wow, that's good for you.”

Karen could keep her curiosity at bay for about five seconds.”Do I know him?”

Frank shook his head. ”I can't tell you.”

”I do, don't I?”

Frank sighed. ”Sort of. You haven't met him, though.”

”Alright?” Karen encouraged him to go on.

”He's a war veteran,” Frank said, hoping she would give it a rest.

No such luck. ”That makes sense, of course,” she said like she was thinking aloud. ”Someone who gets what you've been through, who knows what he's getting into. But why would I know him? Famous veterans that come to mind are all in office, but you wouldn't probably date a politician. Not to mention what a career suicide it would be to them if it ever got out... They're older, too. Like most celebrities with a military background, and I somehow doubt you're dating someone from the Vietnam War or, you know, before,” Karen laughed.

Frank did his best to maintain a blank face.

Karen didn't seem to notice him getting even more uncomfortable. Maybe it would have gone differently if she had. Now, instead, she ran with the absurd idea, finding it funny.

”Could you imagine? You and – I don't know, Oliver Stone?” She giggled.

Frank grimaced which made her laugh even more.

”Who else is there? Oh my God, how about Chuck Norris?” She proposed gleefully. Frank wasn't so amused. And then, she went on. ”Though I got to say, if you've bagged Captain America, you have my blessing. He can get it, right?” Karen said and burst out giggling again, almost hysterical now. Frank was getting worried – as much for his secret as for her sanity.

Karen finally looked up at him, wiping tears from her eyes. ”Ok, I'm sorry about this. Alright, I guess I'm tired. Oh, Jeez,” she sighed and visibly tried to collect herself. ”But really, Captain America – he's hot, isn't he? We can talk about guys, right?”

Okay. Frank was simultaneously amazed Karen could get to the correct answer unknowingly like that and horrified he could feel himself getting flustered.

”You do think he's hot!” She crowed. ”What does it for you, his nobility? His abilities to kick ass? _Or_ his ass?”

”Karen,” Frank warned.

”Okay,” she said. ”I got carried away. Sorry. Again.” She was sincere in her apology and Frank felt like a tool. Again. She should be able to tease him. God knew he'd taken a lot worse from his buddies in the Marines.

”It's fine,” he said. ”I don't mind. It's just – ”

Karen waited. ”It's just?”

Frank hid his face behind his hand. Alright. ”It's him.”

Cap hadn't seemed like he was that deep in the closet, Frank rationalized. He wasn't hurting anyone spilling the beans, he was sure. And well. He sort of figured that if he had something going on with a guy – which was _fine_ – you couldn't do much better than Rogers.

So maybe he was a bit proud. Sue him.

" _What_?" 

Eyes big as saucers and mouth open Karen looked positively shocked.

”What?” Frank repeated her question. ”You think he's alright.”

”Well, yeah,” Karen choked out. ”That's not why I'm surprised. I mean you liking men – somewhat surprising. That you're seeing a man, that I wouldn't have expected. That you're seeing _Captain America?_ What the hell? How did you even meet? Wait a second – you said you were there last night by coincidence!”

Frank shrugged. ”I was.”

”Did you score a date by saving him?” Karen asked, going a few steps ahead, already.

”Okay,” Frank put a stop to her line of thought. ”I've known him some months. We go to the same veteran's group, alright? We've talked some. He helped me out, once. That's it. I was there by coincidence last night, believe it or not. I saved his ass.”

”And?”

Frank sighed. ”He asked me out, a while ago. We're meeting tomorrow.”

Shaking her head, Karen gave him a knowing look. ”You must know you are the object of envy of a lot of people.”

”Yeah, like yours,” Frank pointed out. 

Karen got a little red. ”Hey! I didn't know! Don't – don't tell him, alright?”

”I'm not promising anything.”

Karen was obviously about to protest when she got another idea. ”Hey, you could ask him about the kidnappings, couldn't you? Just what he knows. Who are they?”

Uncomfortable to have any expectations about their meeting, Frank was reluctant to acquiesce. 

”We'll see,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> TBC - soonish!


End file.
